


Tell Me No Lies

by stayclassycait



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin AU, Hitman AU, M/M, Messiah AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:38:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayclassycait/pseuds/stayclassycait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik, a killer for hire, receives a high profile assignment that will pay enough for him to leave the assassination business for the rest of his life. Funded by Senator Kelly and a large anti-mutant political group, he is hired to kill one of the most influential men in the world: Charles Xavier. But as Erik begins to infiltrate the so-called mutant messiah's inner circle of trusted friends and advisors, he discovers a dark secret that will not only change the nature of his mission, but also Erik himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me No Lies

“I know there has been much speculation about health by the media recently. I urge my supporters—My beloved brethren—Not to fear. I will not be leaving you any time soon, and I am fit as a butcher’s dog.” A laugh rolled over the crowd at the nigh-outdated expression, and Xavier smiled good-naturedly from over his podium. “I will not give up. I will not leave you. I will fight for you and I, for the rights we deserve and the lives we want, until my last breath!” His last word was nearly drowned out by cheers from the crowd below him, and the news station cut back to the anchor at her desk, a grave expression on her perfectly powdered face.

Erik sat down at his coffee table, setting down his boxed Chinese food and his glass of wine. He watched the news cast with mild interest, sliding off his shoes and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt as he stared at the picture of Charles Xavier. He rolled up his sleeves and picked up his dinner, ripping the top off of the white box and picking up his fork before leaning back in his armchair. He picked out a piece of beef, dropping it into his mouth and sucking all of the juice out of it until it stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Despite his denials, many have been unable to ignore Xavier’s rapid weight loss and increasingly pale complexion. Is this so called mutant messiah truly ill, or simply breaking under the burden that he carries? Xavier will be joining us next week for an interview.” She shuffled her papers as a new little square next to her head replaced the picture of Charles Xavier, shuffling her papers before continuing. “In other news, today two bodies were found in the rural area twenty miles south of…”

Erik picked up his remote from the arm rest, quickly flipping to the next news station. The same video of Xavier was playing, and Erik groaned internally. Couldn’t he just sit down in front of his television and get away from this guy? He flipped through channels until he found an adequately mind-numbing sitcom, throwing the remote on the table in front of him and digging in to his dinner.

Not ten minutes had passed before he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, and Erik was tempted to just ignore it. He moved his dinner to one hand to dig around in his pocket with the other, pulling out the phone and checking the caller ID. It was ‘unknown’. But of course. Erik picked up the call and held the phone to his ear.

“Erik.” He said simply, licking soy sauce from the inside of his lip.

“At the diner. Fifteen minutes,” A voice said gruffly from the other line, and then hung up. Erik sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. Couldn’t he ever just have one nice evening to himself? He stuffed a few forkfuls of rice into his mouth, then got up from the couch and moved towards the door. After shrugging on his jacket, he left the apartment, careful to lock the door behind him before taking off down the stairwell.

The night was cold, the cracked sidewalks damp with the recent rain. As Erik breathed, steam rose from his mouth, and he pulled his collar up against the wind. Sirens wailed in the distance as someone’s television threw laugh tracks out into the street from an open window above. If Erik was a poetic sort of man, he might of admired the moment of pure New York City atmosphere. Instead, he lit a cigarette and took off towards the corner.

The two corners on Erik’s street held a convenience store and a sad little diner, respectively. The corner store was dirty, cramped, and generally overlooked unless you desperately needed cigarettes or a place to hide. The diner was the same kind of place, but always noisy enough to keep quiet conversations unheard and never frequented by cops like other food joints in the neighborhood.

The door rang as Erik pushed it open, and the waitress that always worked nights nodded at him from behind the counter. Erik took a seat in a booth by the window, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and flicking the ashes off into the provided ash tray. The waitress came by a few moments later, setting a cup of coffee in front of Erik without a word. Erik might have been wary of going to a place where he was so familiar, but he knew that no one in this diner had any idea of his line of work, nor did they care.

Erik only had to wait five minutes before the man he’d been waiting for showed up, pausing at the door as if looking for someone before heading over to Erik’s booth. He slid in across from him, and the waitress started over to take his order before he waved her away.

“This place gets filthier every time I see it,” Shaw commented, glancing down at the stained formica table.

“Just get to it,” Erik mumbled, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“As you wish, your majesty,” Shaw said sarcastically, unwrapping his scarf and letting it hang loose around his shoulders. “High profile. You’re gonna like this one.” Shaw reached into his coat, pulling out a folded manila envelope and sliding it across the table to Erik. Erik picked it up and tucked it into the front of his own jacket without even glancing inside.

“Tell me about it,” Erik said coolly, picking up his coffee and sipping it gingerly. It burned his lips, and he set it back down.

“You’ve heard about him. All over the news. This mutant messiah guy,” Shaw replied.

“Charles Xavier?”

“That’s the guy.”

Erik nodded in understanding, flicking the ashes off his cigarette again. “What’s my in?”

“Dedicated follower. You’re gonna meet him at the next rally. Practically pissing yourself to meet _the_ Charles Xavier. Come up with a  sob story about hating yourself for being a mutant, parents kicking you out, whatever. I don’t care what it is.”

“Then… Get backstage, and kill him?”

“No, no, what are you, a fucking idiot?” Shaw squinted at him, waving cigarette smoke out of his face. “Get into his circle. Become the absolute closest person to him. You’ve got six months to do it. Then. _Then,_ you do what you came to do.”

“That’s a long job,” Erik commented casually, taking another drag.

“It pays good. You’ll see when you open that envelope. Monthly pay, then a big sum when it’s done,” Shaw explained, unabashedly looking over the redheaded waitress. She shot him a dirty look and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Who’s paying?”

“What?” Shaw’s attention snapped back to Erik. “Why the fuck are you asking? You know better than that, you little shit.”

“High profile. Who has the kind of money for this?”

“A certain senator and his anti-mutant campaign,” Shaw explained grudgingly. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Fair enough. How much are we talking?” Erik sipped his coffee again.

“Upwards of two million. Four million if you get it done and no one’s suspicious. Five if he wins the next vote,” Shaw said in nearly a whisper. Erik nearly choked on his coffee. He’d usually get paid get paid a hundred grand or a quarter of a million, half of a million if he was lucky and the job was difficult or high-profile. But five million?!

 “Anything else?” Erik said without missing a beat, keeping his expression stony even through his surpsie.

“Nope. You got six months. If it’s not done by then, they’ll be wanting their money back and they’ll resort to less… Subtle measures.” Shaw shifted in his seat, buttoning up his coat again.

“Right.” Erik smothered his cigarette in the ashtray, pressing a hand to his chest to make sure the envelope was secure. He reached into his pocket, leaving five dollars on the table before turning towards the door. Shaw followed close behind, rewrapping his scarf.

“Don’t fuck it up, kid,” Shaw warned as soon as they were outside. It had begun to drizzle, and Erik could feel the freezing cold rain clinging to his skin.

“I never fuck it up,” Erik said matter-of-factly.

“You’re so goddamn humble.” Shaw turned away from him, striding off towards the glowing light marking the entrance to the subway station. Erik lingered for a moment, scanning the street for anyone that might be watching before making his way back home, eager to finish his food and lose himself in mindless television.

He climbed the steps back up to his floor, careful to keep quiet as not to wake anyone in the apartments along the way. As soon as he was in his own livingroom, he locked and bolted the front door and sat down on the couch. The television was still on, playing a different but equally as stupid sitcom. Erik reached into his jacket, pulling out the envelope and ripping it open. He turned it upside down, allowing its contents to spill out onto the coffee table.

A stack of papers in a folder slid out, along with a few discs and a rectangle neatly wrapped in brown packaging paper. Erik picked up this rectangle, setting it on his knee as he carefully slid his thumb underneath the folds and tape. As he pulled back the paper, a stack of money was revealed, wrapped in a bank slip that read $100,000. There were two of them, and Erik weighed them in his hands and flipped through the crisp bills a few times. Two hundred thousand dollars, just for his interest? Phenomenal.

He set the money down, planning to lock it in his safe and deposit it into the bank as soon as it was safe. He rifled through the folder—It was the bare minimum of information, just enough to get him interested in the project. He found quite a few photos of Charles Xavier, some professionally done in a studio for promotions, some taken at rallies, and a few candid shots of him in public. There was the usual information, as well; place of birth, childhood home, relationships of interest, etcetera. Erik thumbed through all of it before packing it back into the envelope, planning on going through the information on the discs in the morning. He picked up his dinner and the remote, leaning back on his couch and turning back to the news. They were playing a different part of Xavier’s speech now. Erik watched with interest, eating his food slowly.

“To anyone out there who has ever felt… Alone. Casted out by society. Living on the fringes, because they don’t belong—You’re not alone. My name is Charles Xavier… And as long as I am here, you are never alone.”


End file.
